


A gentleman always carries two handkerchiefs

by Kenjinami



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Handkerchiefs, It's another thing I wrote at 2 in the morning, It's kind of like a 5 + 1 thing but not really?, M/M, Victor is sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 12:11:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10100033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenjinami/pseuds/Kenjinami
Summary: Victor never understood why he was told to always carry two handkerchiefs. Perhaps, carrying one handkerchief, he would understand, but two?Well, now he knows why.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So it's two in the morning, I just came back from the movies, and my hair is absolutely wet from showering, so I wrote this while waiting for it to dry.. It is not beta'd and it may or may not be slightly out of character, but I sincerely hope you enjoy it.

Victor never understood why he always kept two handkerchiefs. He vaguely recalled his mother always telling him, a gentleman always carries two handkerchiefs. Now perhaps, he could understand the usage of carrying one handkerchief, but two? How does that relate to a gentleman behavior? Why is it gentleman behavior to carry two? Did it matter what kind of handkerchief he must carry? Despite these questions, Victor, from his early ages, was raised to be a prim and proper boy—even if, as he got older, that reserved behavior declined in place of his rockstar-like charisma (well, he can still be a modest man when he wants to)--so instead of asking, he simply did what he was told, and kept two at all times.

 

One of his handkerchiefs was a vibrant color of lilac, and smelled strongly of his mother. Every time he retracted it out of his shirt pocket, which is always placed there for the sake of convenience, it was like a wave of roses wafted throughout the air. Victor enjoyed using that handkerchief, even up to this point in his life.

 

The other handkerchief was a baby blue color. That particular one was always retained in his pants pocket, and since it wasn’t as convenient to reach below and extract the material unlike the one that was held in his shirts pocket, Victor could never remember a time he needed the blue handkerchief. He could, however, recall all the other times he had used the lilac colored one.

* * *

 

The first time, it was when he was a young boy at his school. Victor was conversing with one of his friends as they drew out their homework and items from the lockers, when suddenly the boy’s eyes caught one of the new transfer students. Victor felt his heart start to beat rapidly, his cheeks flushed, his eyes following the path of the student. When the student rounded a corner and disappeared from his line of sight, Victor sighed and turned around—

\--Only to be met with a sharp pain piercing through his forehead as it collided with the locker door. Victor was far too captivated by the new student that he failed to realize that he left his locker door open. He hissed and clutched at his bruised forehead, while his friends formed a circle of concern around him. Victor put on a smile that held back tears of pain, and assured them that he didn’t need the nurse, and he was okay.

(He was not)

Once he had the chance, he scooped up a pile of snow from outside and bundled it up tightly, pressing it against his forehead. While probably not safe and maybe slightly unhygienic, it’s not as if teachers or staff were randomly carrying ice—so he had to make do until he got home at least.

The snow melted and stained the lilac handkerchief, and his mother had to wring it out until it was good as new.

 

 

The second time he used it, it wasn’t much of a dire thing, but he was zoning out in class, his mind wandering to the thoughts of skating on the ice. It was only then he realized that it looked as if he was staring at one of the boys in an odd way, so he removed his handkerchief from his shirt pocket and pressed it against his temple that faced the boy. Victor didn’t know why he did it, when he could’ve just made it look like he was unconsciously zoning out instead of drawing attention to the thought of him staring at one of his classmates.

 

 

The third time, Mila nicked him on his hip with her skates, and he gasped, collapsing to the floor instantly, worry blossoming in his chest. Yakov too, gasped and called Victor over, with Mila assisting him.

It wasn’t until Victor was halfway to meeting Yakov that he realized that his injury was not bad as everyone thought it would be, it was simply a flesh wound. The boy simply took out his trusty handkerchief and dabbed at the blood, before pressing it against the scratch to let the blood clot. The whole time, Mila apologized heavily as if she didn’t just lightly scratch him on his hip. Granted, it was with basically knife shoes, but the wound wasn’t even bleeding anymore after a while.

Victor had to scrub the cloth extra hard. That day, he realized that blood was incredibly difficult to get cleaned out.

 

 

 

The fourth time, he used it was because of a nosebleed from tripping over his own feet, simply, and his nose smashing on the hard floor. His friends joked about how graceful he was on ice, but how much of a klutz he is off the ice. Victor responded with a gulp, the throatful of blood being successfully held back by the handkerchief.

For a second time in his life, Victor struggled with cleaning blood out of it.

 

 

The fifth time he used it, it was because Makkachin licked his face, right before an important meeting. He didn’t want to risk wiping dog saliva on his (expensive) clothing, and he was already running late to the proposed time. Instead, Victor used the handkerchief to wipe his face clean, even using a little bit of hand sanitizer to well, sanitize and scent his face.

 

All the other times he used the handkerchief, it wasn’t mostly big or important. Sometimes, he used it to wipe his mouth when there wasn’t a napkin, or to wipe his hands. When he didn’t have a towel, a handkerchief made a good substitute after training.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t until he came to Hasetsu and coached Yuuri Katsuki, that he realized why he was told to carry two handkerchiefs.

Victor stood alone in the ice rink, occasionally glancing at his watch. His eyebrows twitched when he saw that it was already an hour past the time Yuuri and him were supposed to start practicing. Victor knew that rest is also a vital component for a competing athlete, but Yuuri never slept in this late. He sighed, and skated out of the rink, slapping on his skate guards and trudging out of the building.

Victor was halfway on his way to Yutopia, when he spotted a rather familiar figure on the beach of Hasetsu. He squinted slightly, his eyes not being to keen on looking at the sunrise. Nontheless, he saw Yuuri, who was crouched over, knees to his chest, staring at the sea. Strangely, his form was quivering in the slightest of ways. He was tempted to call the Japanese boy’s name, before deciding against it, and instead approached the man quietly, ready to confront Yuuri why he was late. 

Though, it didn’t matter if Victor tried to be silent, as Yuuri heard the footsteps behind him and looked at Victor, the latter kneeling down. That was when Victor saw that his eyes were red and puffy, his cheeks flushed, it looked as if it was recently he was crying. Victor would be lying if he said all traces of annoyance didn't disippated, and his heart wasn't starting to swell up.

 

“Yuuri? What’s wrong?” Victor asked in the softest voice he could manage.

 

There wasn’t an answer from the man, but instead a discomforted mumble.

 

“…Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“…” Another tear dribbled down his cheek, Yuuri sniffed.

 

Victor didn’t really know why Yuuri was crying; he suspected perhaps stress and anxiety, but he couldn’t be so sure and assume of it. He wanted to ask, to comfort Yuuri and have him spill what was bothering him, to wipe up his tears, before he recalled Yuuri’s story about the girl in Detroit. How he didn’t like having his feelings intruded upon, and pushed her away.

 

He didn’t want that to happen to Yuuri, not when they were just starting to open up to each other. Victor knew, though, that it would still take a while before Yuuri would disclose any more of the sort. Instead, Victor opted for something he thought was better.

 

He pulled out his lilac handkerchief, but instead of handing it over, he stared at how wrinkled, stained, and used it was. Victor shook his head, deciding it wasn’t a good one, and he sighed in slight discontent at himself, resting his hands at his side. That was when he felt the bulge of the other unused handkerchief.

 

Victors eyes lit up as he dawned upon a new idea, and for the very first time, Victor withdrew the blue one—it was still folded in a neat and small square. He held it in front of Yuuri’s hand, waiting for Yuuri to take it. When Yuuri’s fingers wrapped around the cloth and held it, Victor gave a soft, gentle smile, his heart blooming in warmth. He stood up and began to walk back towards the Ice Castle.

 

Unknowing to Victor, Yuuri gave a smile of his own, and proceeded to blow wipe his nose and tears away. His nose felt relaxed on the soft material, and Yuuri sighed in content.

 

It smelled strongly of Victor.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading if you have read this!


End file.
